A/N: First things first. An apology.

I am truly sorry for the long wait. I did not think I would have been so swarmed with my studies that I would not have time to update but I was hit with back to back exams.

I am back for a good six weeks now, and I am working overtime to build a back log so that this won't happen again. I will of course still disappear for a couple of weeks whenever my finals arrive but be assured that you will be warned and that I won't abandon this story.

Now that that's out the way (I'm really sorry guys). This picks up on Perlia's journey to Hemitheopolis as well as what is happening within the city.

Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson or its characters. All rights go to Rick Riordan.

Chapter 15

The Gulf Between

Thalia

"We need to get out of here now!" Thalia shook her head, blinking, wishing her damned eyes would adjust to the sudden burst of light that had left those brilliant blue spots glimmering in the darkness. It was a difficult thing, standing up.

She wanted to but something else didn't. Something that was weary of the sensation that filled the cave. Something that perhaps thought it'd never have to face it again. Something born with the hope of a haven. A foolish hope if not naïve.

More were coming. A lot more.

Percy offered her his hand, having sloppily wiped the gore from it. She accepted it, a sort of bridge for that something. It was only then she met his eyes…He felt it too, and were it not for the adrenaline, she was sure they had naught the strength to push on.

"They're out there, aren't they?" Percy whispered, throat bobbing. Thalia nodded, moving to retrieve her xiphos as Percy stepped into the shadows for his own weapon.

They emerged from the mouth of the cave at full speed, Thalia cursing inwardly at the night sky. Of course, it had to be dark out. Of course, the moon was at its peak, sending shadows stretching across the realms.

It filled her again, the dread, halting her in her tracks. She threw herself into Percy, shoving him to the earth, twisting and turning to fire an arrow into darkness as she tumbled with him. And just as she had predicted, a hellhound leapt forth from the oak that towered over them with its ominous girth. Her arrow buried itself in the creature's paw even before it made its landing, sending it crashing down on its side, skidding across the mud, and uprooting several trees in its path.

Percy turned to her, bewildered, "How?"

"Hellhounds," she said already back to her feet, this time offering him a hand. "They can travel through shadows."

"I noticed. But how? How did you know exactly where it would appear?"

"I didn't. I just…felt it,"

Percy stood there for just a moment; eyes closed as he curled his fingertips. "They ooze it, don't they?" he said, peeking with one eye. "Death. Like those winged demons ooze fear. The stories never did mention it, the mental aspect of the fight."

Thalia did not know what to say to that. He was right, of course. The stories always spoke of the glory of battle. The blow of wits and strength. Not this psychological nightmare.

"It seems to get stronger when they are shadow-jumping," Thalia said finally, after considering how it is, she had managed her feat. "Concentrated in one central location, as if they were channeling their darkne-"

Alarm splintered its way through his features-

He launched his trident straight at her. It whistled past her cheek and judging by the accompanying whine, pierced the flesh of another hellhound.

"Like that?" he swallowed.

A quick glance over her shoulder revealed a dead hound, Percy's trident protruding through its neck, alongside dislodged bones, and matted flesh.

"Exactly like that,"

When she turned, Percy was closer than before, and spiraling through his splintered alarm was something else altogether. Guilt, perhaps. Distraught.

"Are you alright," he stepped closer still, fumbling with his hands nervously. "I…I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to."

"What are you going on about?" she asked, taking a slight step back, only then in the movement of it, feeling the warmth that trickled down her shoulder and the searing pain that came with it.

Two long gashes ran across her shoulder. Nothing new to her, the pain. Mild even for her standards. But it was state of her cloak that truly sliced at her. His cloak. Instinctively, she reached for her necklace squeezing it like she had when it had been pressed between their palms.

Cyril…I'm sorry.

"Thalia," Percy's voice anchoring her back to the present. He approached her with tentative steps, wearily eyeing her wound, mumbling under his breath. It's all my fault.

"Don't beat yourself over it. You did what you had to. You saved me."

He parted his lips as if to argue the fact. She knew what he would have said. That she'd had it covered. That she didn't need him. His faith in her was unearned, but worse, was the fact that his faith in himself, miniscule as it were, was waning. So, she stopped him in his tracks with a glare.

"It needs cleaning," Percy ripped the sleeve of his chiton and dabbed at her wounds. Thalia clenched her teeth, trying to hide her discomfort. "Without proper treatment it'll get infected. If only I hadn't left Maya's supplies in the cave."

He seemed to avoid her gaze then, as he cleansed her wound as well as he could. As carefully as he could. Every now and then, she'd catch a glimpse of them. Those green eyes, their irises darker than usual. As if waves of regret had spilled forth from deep within him.

"Percy," she held his gaze. "Stop. We are in this together. We are both to blame. So, stop…Its alright. I'm gonna be alright. We will get through this. We almost at the gulf. I'm sure Hemitheopolis has healers. Besides, it's only a couple of scratches," she shot him a reassuring smile.

Percy shook his head in disbelief, looking not all convinced, lips curled slightly, "Your amazing. You know that, right?"

"I do indeed. And I also know that we really need to keep moving. So, stop worrying, will you?"

"At least let me bandage the wound first," he tore his other sleeve and wrapped it around her shoulder. "This is gonna hurt a little," he warned, holding her gaze with that sincerity of his. Thalia winced as he pulled the bandage taut. "There, that should staunch the bleeding at least."

When Percy stepped away, Thalia released a breath she hadn't realise she'd been holding. Before she could dwell on the thought, a low growl rumbled through the woods, accompanied by a mountain of fur lumbering forward. The creature's limp and trail of blood was enough for her to identify it to be the one she had shot earlier.

They ran. Minutes turned into hours. In a way, they were fortunate. As fortunate as anyone in their position could be, at least. They were only two other times that they had been ambushed and each time by one hellhound. One expertly dispatched by her bow the other by Percy's trident.

After a time, they spotted a clearing, and the hope that swelled within her was so intense, she almost forgot every kernel of pain that pulsated within her. She had looked at that damned map for hours on their journey. They had to be close. This journey—chapter even—of her life would finally be coming to an end. All the pain, the regret, the death. It would haunt her of course. But maybe, just maybe, things would get better from here on out. They had to, surely.

And then the world froze. A presence hundred-fold to that of her hope. Pushing in the opposite direction. Downward. Inward. She could move nothing more than her eyes. Beside her, Percy too was frozen.

No.

No

NO

She knew this feeling. Death. Every fiber of her seemed to rise and scream in unison. A silent, desolate cry for help. The presence rolled down in swathes from atop the hill. Somehow worse than before. Worse than everything that came before. It was as if she were being eviscerated from within. Because it was. From within. She heard the silent screams now. What they were demanding for—begging even.

Give in.

It would be easier, wouldn't it? All the pain gone. Just like that. She'd be reunited with Cyril; with his family she had always wanted to meet. What was the point anyway? Wasn't that her final destination? Everyone dies sooner or later. Perhaps sooner was better than later.

All those thoughts pulled at her soul. Deeper even. And just when she thought it would all end. That it was too much to bear, she was whisked away…

There she was again. Back at that night, watching it from afar, watching herself cradle his head in her lap.

"I love you too," Cyril whispered. "The day you arrived was the happiest day of my life. You were like a daughter to me. You were so much more. You filled a hole in my heart. Your father would be proud of the woman you have grown into"

"My real father is," past-her said, kissing him on the forehead.

Would he? Would he still be proud if she gave up like this?

Then she was swept away again, this time to the Maya's hut.

"Your lives won't be easy, but I beg of you, survive. Do it for my son, so his sacrifice meant something."

The other her approached Maya and gathered her into a hug. "We will."

Would this become another empty promise? One of many. Would she ever forgive herself?

The images shifted back and forth, sending her drifting across her past, some recent others, not quite.

"You're amazing. You know that, right?"

His faith. Something pure and sincere like nothing she had known. The one person she had done right by. And here she was ready to throw it away. Wasn't that a betrayal? If not a betrayal to him then at least a betrayal of self.

Again, the images shifted, her stomach churning. Enough. She had seen enough.

Thalia knew the answers to the questions she posed herself now—her doubts. A hodgepodge of yesses and noes and I-don't-knowsthat all lead to the same conclusion. She could not—no she would not give up. The future beckoned not the past.

So, she screamed. Screamed against those inner screams and against that outer presence.

And just like that, she was back on the hillside, staring at a sea of hellhounds bounding down towards them, cresting over the hill like waves of death. Impending, inevitable, inescapable.

As she gathered what withered will that stirred within her, and turned to Percy, the thoughts she had wrangled from her chest crept back up her skin. His eyes, lifeless. No guilt, no concern, no mirth.

She tugged at his hand-

Nothing.

A squeeze that should have been painful…

Nothing.

"Percy!" she hissed, the weight of death pressing in on her. She flicked her gaze frantically between their linked fingers and his eyes and the horde of creatures.

"Don't make me break my promise. Don't…" her voice cracking, as she squeezed her eyes shut, in response to the mind-numbing pressure.

Somehow, through all that pressure that boiled within her. She felt it. The slightest of squeezes. The simple warmth of life that resisted the death.

"I'm here." Percy gasped; brows furrowed at what he was seeing. No words were needed. They ran. Ran like she had done since that night. So much running. Soon. Soon it would be over.

The clearing she had seen was more than that. It stretched straight into the calm open sea, the only blemishes, the old, abandoned sail boats strewn across the horizon. And beside it…

"Corinth," Percy managed through heavy breaths.

The gulf. They had arrived. Just one crossing. That was all that was left.

Though she tried to avoid it, the sights of the city distracted her. The port acting as a window into the walled city. Nothing like Sparta. And it was not the existence of the towering walls or even the Acrocorinth that stood so tall it seemed to be one with the starry sky. One with the gods. An impregnable fortress.

No—it was how the city bustled with life. Glorious life. Sparta bustled. But not like this. A tamed, weary bustle. A broken city on the brink of collapse. She had not realised it then, but the people were scared. What she had thought was the most beautiful sight that night in the markets was nothing but a shadow.

It was once Sparta that protected Greece—that protected Corinth. Or was that all lies. A fabrication weaved through the ancient city. She did not want to believe it.

"Over there," Percy's voice cutting through her thoughts. He threw a glance in the direction of particularly small and dingy sailboat. She knew why. It was the one furthest from the city. Despite his doubts…confessions…whatever nonsense he had spouted out last night, it was in his nature to protect. If only he could see it.

"Your sword. I'll need it to raise the sails and cut the boat loose."

She handed him the blade and readied her bow, "Alright, I'll try and slow them down as much as possible."

Thalia had already turned, her back against his, as she fired an arrow.

"Your shoulder," Percy started.

"Go!" she hissed in return.

"But…"

"Do you know how to shoot a bow?"

A moment of silence, then a whisper. "Be careful."

And just like that the warmth of his back against hers was gone, replaced by the icy breeze of the gulf. She heard him trudge through water. Shallow now but getting deeper by the second. She did not falter, using the rope that held the boat to the rotting wooden stake as a compass, step after step, arrow after arrow, thud after thud. Not even a dent in that wall of darkness. A wall that was now reaching the shore, meters away from her.

She reached for her quiver, fingertips grasping nothing but air. Shit.

"Percy! I'm out of arrows" she exclaimed, the quavering in her voice cut out by the resounding thump of a hundred paws slamming into the sea.

"Now, Thalia!". She turned on her heels, nearly stumbling face first into the gulf, Percy was kneeling on the edge of the boat one hand reaching for her, the other gripping the edge of the boat so tightly, she could see it trembling from here. They were getting closer weren't they. And the water was not nearly deep enough to stop them.

The world was cruel wasn't it? After all she had been through. After getting this close to safety, it was to be ripped from her. She had always thought she'd meet her death with valor or perhaps sorrow… even fear. But all she felt now was anger. And were it not for the promise she had offered Percy, she'd be cursing the gods and all they stood for. She locked her gaze to his, a simple nod, a mouthed 'go'.

He roared; face contorted in what could only be described as a reflection of her strive. He held her gaze, unwavering against its harshness. A mouthed 'no' in return. She wanted to scream, to tell him to stop being so stupidly chivalrous—to save himself.

But the wind was taken from her as she was sent tumbling through the air. The world spun. Before she knew it, pain lanced through her torso as she slammed into the edge of the boat, Percy's arms already looped under her shoulders and pulling her to safety. The moment he released her, he swung wildly, severing the anchor.

"Was that-" the boat finally free from its restraints lurched forward and creaked in joy.

"I don't know," he gulped, avoiding her gaze, and looking out to the horizon.

She followed his line of sight, a lump forming in her throat. She was sick of it. The hope. Being brought to the precipice only to be kicked off into chasm. Again, and again. That was what her life had come to. Despair and desolation. She didn't even know what the point of her anger was anymore. And that only made her angrier. She had cursed the world and the gods, and they had cursed her back.

A prickling heat spread across her chest then arms, sizzling as the world grew silent around her. She screamed a primal scream. A distinct roar of raw emotions.

The night-sky shattered. First came the light, spearing through darkness and splintering down in arcs. Then came the darkness.

Damian

Damian awoke to the soft and familiar scent of roses. Chloe was still sound asleep in his arms, head resting in the crook of his neck. He held her tighter and pressed his lips against her forehead. Gods he wished they could stay like this forever. With her in his arms, rambling on and on about the healing properties of various flowers, leaves, berries, and god knows what. To watch her talk and smile and laugh and live.

Even know, he could tell exactly what she was using to treat her patients. The distinct smell of Lavender and Calendula. One for inflammations the other for infections. She was overworking herself and if he dared bring it up, she would reply with a simple 'aren't we all'. And she would be right as she always was.

"Damian," she stirred, their eyes meeting. She smiled softly. "We should get going to the Agora".

The funeral. It slammed into him again. Those waves of guilt. She caught him before his walls broke, kissing him gently. He melted into her arms and sobbed into her shoulder. And she held him there for a long time. And that was all he would ever need her to do.

Slowly and not entirely, he gathered himself and rolled of the bed. Chloe following suit. He brushed himself down and reached for his armor out of instinct, the one that was still stained with…

"Here," Chloe offered, drawing a new set of armor from his bedside chest. "Let me," she whispered as she walked up to him and helped ease him in. Instinctively, he brushed back a stray strand of her hair, his knuckles coming into contact with her smooth caramel skin.

She raised her eyes, blushing. Gods she was beautiful. Every inch of her. She offered her arm, and he linked his with hers as they made their way to the theater. As they walked, she kept up conversation and he knew exactly why she was doing it.

Was she successful? Partially. Did he love her so much more for it? Completely…if such a thing were even possible.

It was the longest this walk had ever felt. Funny how a short stretch of land stretches doesn't it? How a couple of footsteps could span a lifetime. The theatre seemed to gleam in reply. Bathed in both moonlight and firelight. A place that's purpose was to entertain. To spread joy and laughter.

It stood there in its lowered pit, beckoning him forward, down those semi-circular marble steps that had been carved into the earth long before he was born. Long before any of them were born. A gathering of Hemitheopolians…of heroes…of those he had failed.

It was small he supposed—was what he told himself as he descended those daunting steps. Smaller than most theatres. The fact did not help. Of course, it wouldn't. Failure was failure. This was his home. His people. It did not matter that they numbered small. Far smaller than when this theatre had been built. He had the Battle of Corinth to thank for that. To thank for everything that had gone wrong in his life.

"Pst! Over here."

It was Annabeth. She was sat in the front row, a space just enough for two at her side. Damian tried to control the pounding his chest, moving quickly into his seat, head hung low with shame, as he drifted and warred with his thoughts.

A gentle squeeze to his arm anchored him back to reality. He was doing this too often wasn't he. Drifting off. He had to stop. It was that hesitation that had cost him so dearly. When he stole a glimpse to his side, he was surprised to find that the hand wasn't Chloe's. Annabeth had reached across her to comfort him.

Her grey eyes swirling like gathering storm clouds.

Are you alright?

He nodded, yet she held his gaze. Directing that intensity towards him.

Are you sure?

He nodded again. She returned it. A curt we'll-get-through-this-together nod. Gods he was a terrible friend. She had been there too. Injured, nonetheless. She would hold it against herself. He knew it. They were far too alike.

Chloe eyed them wearily, gnawing at her lower lip, eyes flicking back and forth between them as she reached for both their hands.

Family. That was what this was. He'd only known them for four years, yet he could barely remember life before them. It was like this was how things had always been.

Slowly but surely the comfort of their presence seeped into his bones eviscerating his self-spite and transmuting it into something else. Gratitude. For everything. For every meal, every sparring sessions, every smile, laughter, or tear. Every single moment he had shared with them

In this moment, that was all that mattered. It had to be-

A deep bellow filled the air. A sound he had heard too many times before. The Horn of Hades, blown once for every fallen Hemitheopolian. Once, twice, thrice…

It went on and on numbing his senses and turning the world into a prickling blur. It was cruel. So many of his brethren had not gotten the funeral they deserved. All they got for dying was being buried six feet beneath the earth. If they were lucky, their close friends and family would be the ones doing the burying.

But that was war. Stopping was not permissible or survivable. Stopping was to accept defeat. Like he had done…

Don't...don't go there again.

When the war was over, then they would mourn. But that didn't matter now. When the Polemarch falls…or the Archon, stopping is necessary. The last time such a thing had happened…

The largest funeral in the city's history. More dead than alive. His mother…

A sob rose to his throat and that warmth that had filled him made space for something else. He couldn't even remember how she looked. Only her smile, a ghost of it.

The theatre fell to a dead silence in response to his father's signal. The Archon's scepter in his hand and a silver crown on his head.

"We are gathered here today to mourn the loss of friends and family alike," a solemn pause as his father looked to the earth, his lips shifting in muttered prayer. "But we are here not only to mourn, but to celebrate. Celebrate their lives and what they have accomplished. One thing in particular that we can all only hope to accomplish. A hero's death."

The crowd echoed in thudded unison of fists to hearts.

His father continued, standing proud, scepter raised like a beacon, "They died so we could live…So we will honor them. Honor them with every breath and every step. Honor them by following them to grave if we have to! Honor them by fighting!"

And with every declaration, his father's voice swelled, and the city with him. Hemitheopolians answering his call. Damian watched the transformation in awe. How a small group of dejected individuals could become one in an instant.

His father brought his scepter down to the ground in three quick taps, the sound echoing through the theatre. And with that signal, the coffin emerged behind him. Above even, on the open-air second story of the stage house. All white and gold, shimmering in the firelights. Marble and gold fused together to tell the story of Dorian's life. A crowned Warhammer, the centerpiece of the carvings…

The children of Hephaestus had outdone themselves. Damian only wished he could have helped in some way. Anything at all. Even something as simple as being one of the coffin bearers would have been better than this. A spectator both then and now.

The coffin bearers lay the coffin to rest and vanished, returning moments later with banners of varying designs—symbols of the gods—to mourn all those who have been lost in the last few weeks. Four banners on either side of the coffin.

"Before we proceed," his father cleared his throat. "I have a few words to share with you." The crowd waited in bated breath. "I am sorry…and I will continue being sorry till the day I die. I will not lie to you, my people. Things will get worse…a lot worse before it gets better. I beg of you all, do not lose faith. The Gods are with us! And those we have lost are with them!"

His father stood as still as a statue, letting his words sink into their hearts. Then he signaled the coffin bearers, and within a heartbeat a column of flame sputtered to life, encircling every banner and Dorian's coffin.

"Let us all observe a moment of silence to honor our fallen." His father said, with raised arms. The entire city rising to their feet, heads hung low with their fists clutched to their hearts. A motion of respect and a symbol of farewell.

A moment frozen in time. A silence so deep and all-consuming that the crackling of the fire could be heard throughout the city. Damian wondered then, for a moment, if his heart had stopped beating. Yet, it seemed a trivial thing of no concern. Not when, he could feel Chloe's where his fingers brushed against her wrists.

"I invite all of you now to say your final farewells." His father's voice taking a certain finality to it. "Do not leave anything unspoken. Anything that will weigh down your shoulders or poison your hearts. The dead are dead. But do not forget what I have said earlier. Their sacrifice is our mandate. A mandate to live, and if we are to live, we should do so without regrets. Then and only then can we move on together, united as one people, as one weapon that will strike down any who oppose us."

And with every word that slipped forth his father's tongue, the people of Hemitheopolis answered. They burned and blazed together, growing, and growing until defeat seemed an unfathomable outcome.

Was this what true leadership looked like?

All his father had needed was a few words. And just like that, he had injected life back into his people. It was something truly special to behold. Damian could never imagine himself wielding that much power.

As one, the city filtered themselves into a queue that stretched far out the theatre. Damian and his father at its head and Chloe and Annabeth behind them.

They stood shoulder-to-shoulder in awkward silence, leading the queue into the stage house and up the steps. Costumes and props had been shoved aside hastily to make way for the procession.

With every step, Damian's feet got heavier, as if they were turning to lead. And when he was high enough to catch a glimpse of the coffin he stumbled slightly, but Chloe was there to steady him. Her hands pressing gently into the small of his back. He took a deep breath and continued up the steps. His father stayed silent, keeping a cautious eye on him.

They approached the coffin together, kneeling by it as Damian rested his palms on the cold marble. To his surprise, his father moved one of his hands atop his, squeezing it with a gentle strength.

"Dorian," his father whispered. "I'm sorry old friend. I'm sorry for failing you. I…I don't know what would have happened if-" his father choked on his words, tears threatening to spill.

What was he talking about? What could be so terrible as to bring tears to his father's eyes…his father, Archon proper of Hemitheopolis. The hardened warrior that had barely shown his own son emotions for all these years.

Then again, tears were not weakness. Damian knew this. He always had. Heck he was crying right now. But his father had always made it seem so.

"If you hadn't…" His father continued. "You didn't keep to our pact old friend and when I follow you to Hades, not even he can protect you from my wrath." A pained smile followed by a silence that beckoned Damian to say his piece.

"I will never be able to repay you. What you instilled in me…A second chance at life. But I will try. You were the best mentor there ever was. Chiron himself would be jealous. Farewell, Dorian."

They rose and left, leaving the hero behind with the rest of his people. People he had fought for, for twenty years. As they left the stage house, his father pulled him into a bear hug. Damian returned it without a word. In a way, he had lost one father today. It was time he better appreciated the one he had. When he pulled away from it, his father held his gaze fiercely, a flicker of regret flashing through those eyes. A lingering finger at his cheek.

"You have her eyes you know. And her smile."

Damian's heart fluttered at the mention of his mother. It would take some time getting used to talking about her. But it was a good change—a needed one. For both his and his father's sakes.

"I kinda figured. You're not really one for smiling." he joked. His father smiled at that, eyes gleaming with something Damian could only hope was pride.

Annabeth

The funeral was nearly at an end. The last few Hemitheopolians who had yet to say their farewells were queued behind the coffin. The rest had returned to their seats while Hector reclaimed his position at the center of the Theatre. Once everyone was seated, the coffin and banners were carried away and brought to the Necropolis via chariot.

"Hemitheopolis!" Hector called for attention. "We have paid our respects to our fallen. But now we must do so for one who has yet to rise." He paused for dramatic effect. "It is time we anoint a new Polemarch. One that will lead us into the coming battles and push back the darkness" He paused again. "So, I ask you this, Hemitheopolis. Who will be your CHAMPION?"

Annabeth's heart skipped a beat. Did she dare hope? Could this be her moment? Her chance to finally make her mother proud and cement herself in the history books.

Within seconds, her hopes were dashed as the crowd burst into chants of "Thaddeus!" and "Damian!"

A fool. She was stupid to think she had a chance. Of course, the people chose brawn before brai-. She stopped that bitter train of thought in its inception. It wasn't fair to Damian or even Thaddeus, who had both always been there for her when she needed them the most. She wouldn't even be alive if it weren't for them.

"I don't want it." Damian whispered over and over again as the crowd echoed loudly—

Then the sky split in half as thunder crackled through it. A bolt of lightning larger than any she had seen before, scorching trough the starry night sky, straight towards the Corinth. The crackling got louder and louder, whistling through the air then climaxing in a ground shattering explosion that reverberated through the air and lit up the world. And as soon as it begun, it ended.

Quiet, as if nothing at all had happened. As if white-hot fire hadn't rained forth from the heavens. Had they angered Zeus?

Damian rose to his feet and turned to the crowd "People of Hemitheopolis. Hear me out. There are people far more deserving of this position than I. My friend and fellow strategoi, Annabeth, for instance"

She shot him a look that was supposed to be intimidating but the warmth rushing to her cheeks betrayed her, "What are you doing?"

His only answer, a half-smile. It made her feel worse, for even entertaining those thoughts.

"You not calling out her name tonight is exactly why she is best suited for the role. She may not be our best fighter." Wow…thanks a lot Damian. "But she is our sharpest mind. Trust me, I have been on the receiving end of it more than once."

The crowd burst into laughter and Chloe offered her an amused smile.

"All jokes aside…you haven't witnessed her in the council chamber. Otherwise, none of you would be laughing now. Ever since she has been appointed to the role of Strategoi, there has not been a single decision made in our council chamber that hasn't been heavily influenced by her or even born from that beautiful, crazy mind of hers." The crowd laughed again. "So, what I was trying to say is…choose her…not me. Thank you for the time."

Damian returned to his seat smoothly, as if he hadn't just commanded the attention of the entire crowd with ease. Natural born leader. He had always been one. Everyone could see it. Everyone but him.

"Damian," Annabeth said, trying her best to control her emotions. "I don't know what to say."

"That's a fir—Ow!" Damian exclaimed as Chloe punched him in the shoulder painfully.

"Stop teasing her Damian. She's already turning as red as a tomato—ouch!" Now it was Chloe's turn to take a hit.

Chloe wrapped her arms around their shoulders with some difficulty, owing to the fact that she was shorter than them both. "He's right you know. Every word." She rubbed Annabeth's shoulder affectionately and turned to Damian, "And I'm proud of you Damian. It takes courage to speak from your heart like that." She kissed him lightly on the cheek.

"Look who's turning into a tomato now," Annabeth sniggered.

Chloe laughed softly as a smile tugged at Damian's lips.

"It's starting," Chloe pointed to the stage where three people stood behind Hector carrying baskets-full of pottery shards—ostraka—that were used for means of balloting.

"The voting commences now," Hector pointed his scepter forward as the people carrying the baskets travelled up the stairs to hand out ostrakas to everyone. Once that was done, the people were to scratch their votes on the surface of the shard and return it to the stage where the votes would later be tallied. Even before the cold surface of the ostraka pressed against her palm, Annabeth knew who she would vote for. There was only one person who deserved to ascend to Polemarch. She bent down to retrieve the triangular cut of stone that was found beneath every seat in the theatre and scratched her vote onto the surface of the ostraka carefully. DAMIAN SON OF HECTOR.

Hope you guys enjoyed that. Again, I apologise for the wait.

Please leave a review if you enjoyed the chapter

I'd really appreciate it